Murphy's Law
by CyanideDreams610
Summary: Murphy's law is an adage or epigram that is typically stated as "anything that can go wrong, will go wrong." Like Lisa's life...and Jackson's. Slight JxL. Post-movie, a Jackson wants revenge story. Only this one, both fails. Hard. Hilarity ensues.


Thanks to Sami who beta-ed this chapter!

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_**Your bones are sore and weak, **_**  
_But your will is as strong as concrete._**

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You would think that, after all Lisa had gone through during the whole Red Eye flight, she would be considered something of a hero. She's not a braggart; far from it in fact, but being appreciated for saving the deputy director of homeland security and his family would be nice. She had about 10 minutes of fame with reporters gushing over her gallant acts (unwanted, of course) before a horde of FBI agents dragged her away, saying there's a pending investigation on her questionable innocence. Right away the reporters latched on and made her out to be a criminal. They started speculating and telling the public that she might have formulated the whole assassination attempt only to diffuse it herself to get attention. Some of the reporters even speculated that there might have been some "other woman" business going on between Keefe and Lisa and that is why she decided to send a missile into his hotel room. But then she ended up getting second thoughts and went off to save him. In any case, these _are_ just speculations, as the reporters very clearly stated, but the public ate it all up as if it's the gospel truth anyway (even more unwanted).

After Lisa was shoved into this black car, she was immediately sped away to some headquarter and locked in an interrogation room. They proceeded to question her for about forty-eight fucken hours in said room. Turns out, this Jackson Rippner character doesn't exist. At all. Of course, Lisa, told them to check the body, and there was no body.

_How can there be no body? If he's not dead, check the hospital then! I saw you guys handcuff him to the stretcher!_

There was no arrest.

_What?_

The blood in her father's house came back with the result of "unknown male DNA." Most of his fingerprints all over her father's house came back as "too smeared" and any partial prints they were able to pick up doesn't match anyone in any system.

_So he's not in your system, but he's real, dammit!_

There's no birth certificate for a Jackson Rippner; no record of any kind that he's a living person on US soil. All the calls during the flight were made under her own credit card. Cynthia, the poor little ditz that she is, vouched that she only ever heard Lisa's voice over the phone. Most of the passengers in the flight don't remember him, except for one blonde and overly tan lady who swears Lisa was definitely an evildoer because she stabbed a pen into the throat of a very nice young man. The flight attendants vouched for that same lady. Her father was able to give them a very accurate depiction of Jackson's appearance and the wrongful deeds enacted in his house, but his claims were considered "unreliable" because he's related to the suspect and they happened to be very close (daddy's little girl after all, right?).

Lisa was asked the same questions over and over again, the agents trying to find discrepancies in her story; then she was harassed to make a confession. They tried to make a deal with her, all she would have to do is plead guilty, they will just sent her to a maximum security prison and throw away the key, but at least she won't get the death sentence.

Lisa, ever resilient, stuck to her story and at the end of that horrendous forty-eight hours, she was allowed to leave due to "inconclusive evidence." There was still that guy she rammed through her house, however. Then again, since they found weapons on him, they allowed that one to pass on as "self defense". That man also didn't appear in any of their systems.

Reporters, once more, hounded on her as she left the headquarter of her interrogation. Let's not forget she was locked in that building for two full days without a change of clothes, nor a shower of any kind, and barely any sleep. She looked as much a criminal as any criminal would. The reporters also much rather have her be the cold blooded killer because that is just way more interesting. Speculations continued and the "inconclusive evidence" helped fueled the public's poor opinion on dear Lisa.

Cynthia became brainwashed by the media and is completely convinced that Lisa did it all. She then decided it was a good idea to convince everyone else working at the Lux that Lisa is the culprit as well. What little friends Lisa did have didn't want to be seen with her because reporters oh-so-wonderfully posted her picture all over the news, the internet, and the papers with the headlines "Disgruntled Employee Turns Assassin!" Oh, yea, and she got fired. She went back to her father's home after the questioning to find all the stuff she left at work in boxes stacked in a corner of the living room.

"Sorry, honey, they called me and told me to get your stuff," her father sheepishly said as she stepped through the plastic tarp that covered the giant hole where the front of her father's house used to be, "I guess that means you're off tomorrow, huh?"

_Yea…and for the rest of my life, I bet._

During this whole ordeal, not a single person even asked "how the hell could a freakin' hotel manager have the resources to plan and institute such an event?" Now can you call this fair? You go and save a bunch of lives and almost sacrificed yourself all in the name of good (Lisa) versus evil (Jackson). Then the evil tool gets away scot-free and the good guy gets slammed with defamation. And where the hell is Keefe? Why isn't he helping our Lisa? _Because he's a douche bag, that's why. I'm letting you rot next time._

So, at the present moment (about a month and a half after the Red Eye incident), Lisa finds herself sitting in her apartment, wallowing in her misery, and feeling very sorry for herself. Oh, and it just so happens that the cause of all her grief is now currently trying to pry open her bedroom window while she sits in her living room…eating a gallon of ice cream…again. Said cause-of-all-grief is having a bit of trouble prying the window open since the only medical treatments he had were from back-alley doctors. Well, there's also the fact that he only had a little over a month to heal too.

Finally, after fifteen minutes of struggling, he manages to pop open the window. He proceeds to fall right through and crack his face against the floor; the window pane slams down against his legs that are still half dangling out of the opening. He resists the urge to start yelling obscenities and throw stuff through the glass as he wiggles the rest of the way in. He stifles a grunt when he accidentally grinds the injured thigh (the one that Lisa impaled with her damn spiky heel) against the window ledge. He quickly, and as quietly as he can, got off the floor and close the window; then he huffs and straightens out his clothing.

Amazingly, through all that racket Jackson had made in her bedroom, Lisa continues to obliviously spoon ice cream into her mouth. As Jackson strides right into her view, she chokes, drops the spoon onto her couch (staining it), jumps to her feet; making the spoon bounce off the couch, and the tub of ice cream plunges to the floor (face down).

"Nice," Jackson remarks.

Lisa, in a complete state of shock, stands there, gawking at him; mouth hanging wide open and everything. "Did you get a little plumper since the last time I saw you?" he casually asks, tilting his head.

She blinks in confusion and stares at him for a few more seconds before replying, "Did you just call me fat? Wait, what the hell are you doing here? How did you even get in? _Did you seriously just called me fat?_"

"I called you plump," he answers while walking closer to her, "I got in through you bedroom window –"

"I live in the fifth floor!"

"You have a balcony; I climbed," he steps closer; kicks the spoon away (God knows she's going to find some way to use it against him). "And," he continues (in a very clichéd and corny way, might I add), "I'm here to watch you die."

Lisa snaps her mouth close and kicks the tub of ice cream in the air; towards his head. Jackson manages to catch the tub from crashing into his skull, but he apparently forgot about physics, and what's left of the contents in that tub splattered all over his face. Lisa turns and makes a beeline for the exit as Jackson furiously swipes at his face with his sleeve.

He chases her down just as her fingers touch the door knob to the exit. He grabs her by her arm, right above the elbow, and swings her around. She loses her balance and falls on her butt, sliding a few feet on the hard wood floor. She frantically kicks her legs outwards, trying to scoot away from his advancing steps. She quickly spins onto all fours and practically crawls away. Just as she was about to get on her feet, he grabs hold of her ankle and yanks. _Oh, you asshole._ She falls flat on her face and he drags her back. He lets go of her ankle and grabs her arm, flipping her over and yanking her to her feet.

"You got away scot-free! Why are you doing this?" she screamed.

He shoves her and she collides against the wall. He got in her face and replied, "You've turned my life to shit, completely ruined everything, now tell me why I shouldn't ruin you, huh?" He grabs both of her upper arms, pulls her away from the wall slightly, and slams her back into it.

She grunts and venomously spat, "You think you're the only one whose life has been turned upside down? Look at what you've done to _me_!"

He pauses for a second, "Alright, I've made a mess of things too, I'll give you that. But see," he leans in even closer, she shrinks away from him, "I have more to lose than you do."

"Yea? And what is that?" she's practically bearing her teeth at him by this point.

"Heh," he scoffs, "how about my life?"

She arches one eyebrow, giving him a look of skepticism.

"Oh, Leese, what?" Jackson sneers, "So you lost your job, lost some friends, got questioned by the FBI, and people give you dirty looks in the street, boo-freakin-hoo. I got a fucken bounty on my head!"

Lisa's eyes widen and stare at him with a mixture of disbelief and shock.

"Ah, but of course, you would never stop to think about that, now would you?" he spat, "Human nature and all that – the fucken id. No, all you thought about was what's going to go wrong with _your_ existence," he pushes her against the wall again, "or the people in your existence to be a little more precise. See, what happens is, when _you_ screw up, you get a slap on the wrist, a little scolding, or maybe something bigger like losing your job as you have now. See me? When they fire me, I don't just pack my stuff and go, no. I don't just lose my job, I lose my life."

"But-but...I-I...I didn't _know_!" she sputters.

He narrows his eyes, "And if you did, would you have done what I told you to?"

"Um...well…" she spoke in a small voice.

"Exactly."

"What would you accomplish by killing me, Jackson? My death wouldn't get rid of your bounty!"

"That's very true, _but_, it sure as hell would make me feel so much better about all of this, so–"

"I don't want to die!"

"Who the hell does?"

Lisa opened her mouth and took a breath as if to speak. Jackson waits for her to say something, but instead of declaring anything useful at all, she grabs onto his shoulders and knees him in the groin. He grunts and doubles over; his face turning so red it might as well be purple. She shoves him away and commences to run towards the exit again.

Jackson, hyperventilating and clutching his area with one hand, turns and pulls a Rick O'Connell à la "The Mummy" with his other hand; he grabs a random chair and flings it across the room. Said chair crashes into the back of Lisa's knees and she goes down flailing, smacking her head pretty hard on the ground. Jackson walks towards her (or more like limp in a very bow-legged way) as she groans and tries to push herself up. She feels herself being pulled up and the world tilts. Her stomach twists as he rights her on her feet.

_Concussion, damn it, I have a concussion_.

She shakes her head to clear the fuzziness which it turns out to be quite a mistake as her stomach lurches once again. "I think I'm going to throw up," she moans. And so she does – on him. He grimaces and drops her like hotcakes; she lands on the floor by his feet with a dull thump.

"You insufferable–" he hisses as he looks at the predicament he caught himself in. His clothes are completely ruined; the sleeves are covered in sticky melted ice cream, the front of his jacket is covered in half-digested ice cream, and whatever dinner she had (it's very hard to discern what that is, but if he had to take a guess, it would be chili).

_Oh, gross._ His grimace turns into a full blown snarl. He glances down; about to drag Lisa upright again, but found her missing. He looks up to find her struggling to stay standing and moving in the right direction; she would have made it out of the apartment by now if she wasn't seeing three of everything. He sighs while rolling his eyes skywards and takes his jacket off, chucking it as far away from him as possible. He hobbles after her (considering that particular area is still very much in pain) and grabs her shoulder. He turns her around and holds her at arms distance.

She lets out a cry that sounds like a mix between a scream and a gag. "Stop spinning me," she shouts, "or I swear I'll throw up on you again."

He sneers in her face, "You do that, and I'll–"

"You'll what?" She interrupts, "You'll kill me? I thought that's what you're here for to begin with!"

"I'll make it slow then," he growls into her ear, his lips brushing against her earlobes.

She flinches and trembles slightly. He pauses – hesitating – and leans away, staring at her thoughtfully. He takes a breath and starts to say something, but is interrupted by this very loud pounding. Both jumps from the sudden noise and turn towards the origin of the incessant clamor – the door.

"Miami PD," a muffled voice resonates, "we've been reported of a disturbance coming fro–"

Before anyone even has time to think, Lisa shrieks at the top of her lungs, "HEL–"

Jackson snarls and smacks his palm against her mouth, clipping off the last of her bawl. There is a thundering crack as the door is being kicked in. Jackson grits his teeth together and bit out the word, "Fuck!" as he lets go of her and made a run for her bedroom. She is left standing there swaying from side to side with one hand to her forehead as the room continues to spin without the assistance of someone holding her up.

After a second kick, the door splinters open and a sole uniformed officer runs in; gun drawn. The officer takes in a quick glance around the room before making his way to Lisa. He says to her, "Ma'am, are you alright?"

She wants to snap _do I look like I'm freakin' alright?_ But she opts to just point at her bedroom and the officer cautiously, although quickly, starts making his way in that direction. By the time he got there, the only movement at all is the fluttering of the curtains from the open window. The cop carefully steps towards the window and looked out – not even a hint of anyone ever being there before. Lisa staggers towards her room and leaned against the door frame. She takes note of the open window and thought, _Geez, is he the goddamn Batman now?_

The cop takes a deep breath and turns to Lisa; she looks back at him gratefully. He then says to her, "Ma'am, I have a few questions I'd like to ask you; would you mind coming down to the precinct with me?"

Lisa's face fell,

_fucken…fuck._

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Please review!

I might write a sequel depending on how many people wants one lol.


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